I'm not going to use my love anymore
I'm already moving to fast
I should also stop using heart
if I want anything to last

It was a long bus ride
And the **** plastic sheet seats
Were cracking from abuse and freeze
We all kept warm with conversations
And secrets
And scandals in the back row

The era of shame
My own propaganda
Selling me on the idea
That I should carry everyone's.
Sourness
Sins
Shame

That bus was wretched
With the stench
Of frozen sweat
And regret

Despite it all
I could find any single one of you
And we'd exchange
Untouchable moments
Memories of the heart
Strung along that tattered pavement

Here's mine

It was in your eyes
That I saw myself shine
For across that opaque pane
I witnessed your thought
"this guy is interesting"

You and your curly raven rings
Asking about my fixations
Changed the course
Of who I see
when I close my eyes

I've never seen you since that summer
I've never sat behind you again
Can't even recall the name
Can't remember if we won the game
But you're a warm tea I get to sip
When it comes across my mind
No loose ends
No ***** stains
Just the sun breaking the squall
And the summer of ****** football

I look at the sky and everything is clear
I turn to the sun
and am forced to remember
I am human

Squinting and scrunched
the tranquility is gone
My eyes pinch my mind
and again
These days become long

I told myself to give you poetry in motion
But I don't have a very good camera
or the stamina to hold myself to that kind of devotion
So I slow things
In hopes that this microscope envelops you from your fear
Oh dear, peering in the looking glass again
Not much else, washes out this type of stain

In the back of my stair storage
I have a bin
within my old sins lie
Otherwise I'll forget
as soon as it leaves my eyes
I'm liable

Distracted  
Careless
Unmindful

I have lost so many things
some misplaced
forgotten
stolen, I’m sure
I've lost people
For the same reasons

Its enough to drive me manic
I can’t trace
where the last place
I had it
was
The worst
Is when I don't even know
I've lost it
until the universe
decides to taunt and tease me
with that information

I've lost songs
that hold memories
of my childhood within their lyrics
I've lost movies
Some I've just watched too many times
I've lost feelings
at least all the intensity in them

So,
I've started hoarding

I told myself I'm not losing that nostalgia
So I'm boarding them up in boxes
I'm being present in my past
and these are the paradoxes
In which my unlost will hopefully last

Not to be dramatic
But I love to be dramatic
You're one thing I look for every time
But I couldn't find you if I tried
No crumbs, no remnant
nothing in these boxes
will cause remembrance

One day, I'll be going through
and one day, I won't care to find you

Promise kept, for the sake of promise kept.
Robes worn, for the sake of robes worn.
Wedding bands, and oming hands.
The value in virtue, I will willfully adorn.
Its tightening locks of golden strands
the lightning rocks me, but it understands.
I must work through what I've made,
I trust the solace in this, a stoic slave.
I picked my lot and hold it fast,
I'll stick my spot, this mold is cast

Doubt will cause a shadow
and I've drunken all I had, so
a deep drink in divine, then have your spew.

Trust in the voice
that made this choice,
and for this lifetime, actually see it through.

It may be that
the purpose,
Is not written into
the program.

The more words I learn
The more apt I get at conveying the precise notion
But
The more words I learn
The further I separate myself from those I’m writing to

I cannot explain to those
That I need to hear me
In such a way which is meaningful
To them
for me

I toil on
Learning to say something simpler
Clearer
Despite the barrage of stimulus I wish to demonstrate
I toil on
Saying what's been said
Stealing greater sculptors scalpels


I am undone

Being wrong is too much work

Regardless of my choice of origin
Whether I'm a bipedal ape,
or molded out of clay and rib
I sense it fruitless
To let the complexities of the cosmos
cause me strain

It does me no good
To give unrelenting effort
to a greed-like god
named “Understanding”

I am to wonder and wander
I am to live and love
I am to dance and ponder
To be free
of what's above

I swear, they're having battles up there
and we're missing them!
Right there! way up in the air
past all the houses, past the hills
past the pollution
Right there against the blue
They are warriors of strength through and through
I see their charges, the waves of legions
sides changing as quickly as the seasons
but they keep fighting on, forever I'm sure
The battle of the blue and white blur

I'm not proud of what I do
who I am
or where I'm at

HOWEVER

I am proud of how much effort I put in
and that helps with the
being
proud of
what I do
who I am
and where I'm at

It poisoned here too
Semi-hungry souls scrounging
and seeking
for morsels

Scavenging, stealing meaning
from you

"Keep the key short and sweet
Unlock these mortals from their morals"

Make me
Momentary
Make me
Complete

As catastrophic
as it all gets
As giant and ferocious and fast
It all feels

I pull with great force and love
Conversations we've had
I laugh at the calamity
of talking about the same word
and how different our definitions
of it were

Entropy  

I feel this deep within

When I drive through the single lane forest roads
Coaxing my children into a nap they want nothing to do with.

I feel this deep within

When it's hot
I'm inbetween the sheets
and I see the leaves outside shake in the breeze.

I feel this deep within

After some fresh air and a little quiet

Its always after some quiet.

I recall our conversations because yours is the definition that relieves my soul

That after the great chaotic event
That after the loudness
brightness
and end of the end

When the dust settles
It does just that

Settles.

To be beautiful
and profound
but

spontaneously

They flutter about in the deep dark night
sputtering on, with a bright firelight might
Butterfly sized, with wreathed shining crescents
The only word breathed is, "effervescence”

Their flowing glowing streaks against the dark stark black
While the old stale pale moon beams strong against my back
These little white spheres, of magical energy
lapse my mind of momentary memory
I cannot move, for my movements are crude
and the fear that they'll disappear, is suddenly cued
They are kind and wise, I find I have been mystified
sitting crystallized and innocently petrified

Fickle, free floating dancers, in my quaint little kitchen
Reveals peaceful little answers poured from false fiction

"Playful" I whisper from afar, that's what they are
The purest, clearest energy that's escaped the stars
They brazenly bounce and bob about
reflecting off of my glazen glass jars

Can I love them, without knowing, what or how?
Can I exist forever in this glowing, here and now?
What could they want? Where do they go?
Tantalizing taunts, I grow old in their glow.

A man
Protruding in the field
Standing in damp grass
A marshy meerkat
Alert sentry towards the sun
Eyes wide catching rhythms
Of the changing times
Of the passing seasons

Similar to this

A cat
rigid black and short haired
Let out of the house for the first time
Finding a spot
Between roots and mulch
Curled eternally  
Once playful
At permanent rest
Connected to the changing seasons
Signaling grave times

Both lost to progress
And disconnected from nature
Each making their return
to the flow of things


Despite unfortunate timings
And with all the wrong places to be born
The mother takes them both as they are
Grateful for her children returning
Pleased she kept the place inviting
And the hearth burning

“Come, take my hand
Put you feet in the soil,
say goodbye, and let it all go.
The earth will catch your tears
Bring them back to sky and
they will grow new innocents.
You will know peace
and be forgiven”

As always,
the syrup spills out of your mouth
Pulled from scattered ego
and as always,
I'm either on some new stoic diet
or lapping it up
as if Cleopatra herself
had spat it out

Push to open
Can be applied to almost anything
Push my buttons
and I will reveal
Push me down
and my skin will split
Push and push
and something will give way
Whether it's you
or whatever
you’re pushing upon others that day

I tell you
My name is William Cupid
I see that apple in your eye
Have no fear my dear
off the rack
I'll nock
pull back
and let these arrows fly

Leave it to Nike shoes, fohawk
washed out blues, leather gold wrist watch
to complain, about how he remains
at his bus stop

leave it to raven gray, old bifocals
tacky turquoise rain gear of yesterday, local
to contemplate, on why
her bus is late to the depot

speaking also as a flower not from the seventies
I was saddened by the old bus sans WiFi, amenities
so I
identify
with this loud and proud
skater kid, he's off the grid
I chose not to rid myself of this skid
so hip, he flipped his lid on to the seat
took me a half beat and found my feet
going for a seat across the aisle
and he would remain my half companion for the next little while

leave it to Nike shoes, fohawk
washed out blues, leather gold wrist watch
to share his sour blaster cherries on the ride

leave it to weathered man, buzz cut
hard tatted tan, shirt tucked
to sit grim and gruff, every muscle tough on the drive

strictly speaking as a silent observer watching
intrigued by their contrasting ratio in talking
so I
ask why
this older guy can’t close his eyes
yet skater kid who sleeps so sound
slept softer than Mr. Gruff ever did
this man did more than this kid ever could
so why should he be so sleepless, he would
snore if he could for at least a little bit
while the **** head behind him sleeps, laughs, and smiles

Wait…

I never thought to think

****!

I broke myself today
When I realized
I would never get anything done
The battle between stimulus
and systems
was already won

I am a slave to the new
and chained to "To-Do"

Enemy
within
Empathy
sparked
Compromise
is killing me
Slowly in the dark

Sitting here
in my cardboard abode
I found it to be laborious
and a hassle
to find my joys hidden
in forbidden code

I've made my peace
with being this castles rascal

------------------------------------------------------------

T­he bile tongued prince
sat upon his minced words
trying to dismiss the news
that he had heard
But the taunting is ever present
To think that all this haunting
was brought on by the peasants

The advisor was all the wiser
for remaining silent
He'd learned his words
are sometimes better unspent
Letting youth flap carelessly
like the sigil above the hall
With a clap and a tap
the prince barks to answer the call

He seemed hesitant
as any should be in this time
He bluffed confidence
as he declared the act a crime  

So pick up arms
This burden befalls on all
who can woo
No telling by the yelling
on how many sons
mothers went through
Red and black
a snake like tide
walked and waved
as it passed through the gate
A shimmering glide
the baking sun glinted
off every single armor plate
Acting accountant
for how many would be lost
The sun an abacus
showing what it would cost    

To war

Call it cringe
call it bad
call it great
or whatever you want
Hell, rip pages out
and make your notes
mail me my own poems
back with critiques for all I care
Just know that I don't care; about subject
punctuation
spelling or any of it
Because I swear
on all that I hold dear
if I have to hear
"that's not a real word"
one more ******* time
I'll lose my ******* mind

Oh they're going to find out, how can they not
Without a singular doubt, I'm going to get caught
I even suspect a friend, who maybe thinks I'm sick
because I've lost the path of God. Oh it’s her, isn't it?
There's something greater at stake as well
not just missing out on the praise
But there's so much in name
it’s your well of glory
Will I regret it in the coming days
Is it worth it?
Does it add or take from the story?

Where’s the proof
where’s the undeniable proof
that I'm here and that it's all worth it?
What I am going to talk about
What rhyme will I remember
Do I really want to **** half of them this December?

Who do I brag to?
How much is it going to hurt?
If your friends and family don't know
Did you even do it?

I am
theatre bred
I am
poet born
I will not tread lightly
I will blow my horn
I will make practice
of practice
Till every act is
that of mastery
I will steal history
for so long
that it will linger upon
me. For centuries